


A Healing Song

by celestialteapot



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Gen, Hidden Talents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:22:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialteapot/pseuds/celestialteapot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft sings to Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Healing Song

**Author's Note:**

> From this prompt: Mycroft sings in the shower, and he's quite good. He won't sing in public, though, unless it's to a distressed/ill Sherlock. That's why Sherlock sometimes "accidentally" texts Mycroft instead of John, if he's home alone and in need of comfort.

Switching on the shower, Mycroft gave it a few seconds to reach a temperature above sub-Arctic before stepping under the water. Soaping his hands, he relaxed and started to sing. He had a very strong pleasing light baritone but few outside of the privacy of his bathroom (or occasionally, the car) had ever heard it. As a child, mummy had tried to make him sing in public for her society friends but he always refused, retreating to his bedroom and losing himself quadratic equations. 

The only allowance to this self-imposed silence was Sherlock. Singing to his baby brother whenever he was distressed or ill had, had a calming effect on him. 

The first time Sherlock overdosed, Mycroft had made a tape of Sherlock’s favourite songs and played it to him in the hospital. On his release, he had received an envelope in the post containing the crushed remains of the tape, along with a coarse note assuring him that there were no copies. It had been the most touching gift he had ever been given. 

Shower over, Mycroft left his musings and went to work. Mid-afternoon, his phone beeped. Glancing at the message he saw that it was from Sherlock.

Dying. Need help.

Are you actually dying or are you being overly dramatic? - Mycroft

Mycroft...!

Only Sherlock could send a text message that pouted. Rolling his eyes, he replied that he would be there as soon as he could.

Half an hour later, he stood in the mess that was Sherlock’s bedroom and regarded the shivering lump that seemed to be his little brother. Sherlock was wearing practically every ounce of clothing that John Watson owned and was wrapped in in the duvet. He did look terrible.

“What happened to John?”

“Out.”

“Did he get fed up with you?”

“Mycroft.” He wined and instantly Mycroft was reminded of the five year old mop of black curls and gangly limbs that had once been his younger brother.

“What do you need?” He asked softly, moving closer to the bed.

“Cuddle.”

Smiling, Mycroft kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed next to his brother. Instantly, Sherlock clung to him.

“Sing to me, Mycroft.” His voice was muffled against his waistcoat.

“Very well.” He cleared his throat and started to sing ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ before Sherlock hit him.

“ _Not_ Rodgers and Hammerstein!”

Thinking for a moment, he started to sing ‘The Ballad of Sweeney Todd’. 

Downstairs, Mrs Hudson had moved to the bottom of the stairs. She wondered who was singing, as she didn’t think it was Sherlock given the state he had been in earlier. Behind her, the front door opened.

“Oh, hello Mrs H---” She shushed the doctor. He raised a questioning eyebrow and she shrugged in reply.

By the time the singer had moved onto ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’, there was an audience outside the door to 221b consisting of Mrs Hudson, John, Lestrade, Sally and the postman. 

In Sherlock’s room, Mycroft gently stroked his now sleeping brother's head and slipped out of the room as quietly as he could. 

Hearing footsteps approaching, there was a mad scramble outside the door. 

If Mycroft was alarmed to find Mrs Hudson polishing the banister, John changing a lightbulb, two of Scotland Yard’s finest inspecting a case file and a very confused postman, all outside the door of 221b, he didn’t say anything.


End file.
